


You have to remember your name

by kitkatkaylie



Series: The Winter's Queen [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Theon Greyjoy did not expect to be treated well when the Starks retook Winterfell, but then he had never been good at guessing what they were going to do.A collection of scenes from A Circlet of Weirwood from Theon's point of view.
Series: The Winter's Queen [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504532
Comments: 3
Kudos: 111





	You have to remember your name

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place alongside Chapter 1 of A Circlet of Weirwood. 
> 
> The usual Ramsay themed warning apply, but please let me know if you think I should add any more.

Reek curled up further in the kennels, he could hear the shouts and the clashing of metal outside and knew that whoever won nothing good would happen to him. Either Master would remain and his life would be unchanged, or the Starks would win and he would be punished for taking their home.

He deserved it though. He had betrayed Him.

He could no think of His name, not without memories of Before filtering through. Memories of Before were Bad. They made Reek Bad.

Gave him Ideas about his place.

Reek did try to be good. It was just difficult sometimes, but Master was always ready to help him relearn how to be good. Master was kind like that.

His limbs hurt from his latest lesson; he had spilled a drop of wine on Master’s tunics because his hands were shaking with the cold. Master had taught him, had taken precious time out of his day even, to remind Reek that the cold was no excuse.

When the clashes of metal stopped Reek curled up into a tighter ball and faced away from the door. If he was small enough, quiet enough, maybe he would be left in peace for a little while.

He had been left long enough, the light coming from under the door bright enough, that he had started to feel a glimmer of hope that he would not be found or that Master was willing to let him rest for the day.

He instantly berated himself for that thought, what if Master was injured? If Master was injured and Reek was happy that meant that Reek was Bad.

Reek didn’t want to be Bad.

He clutched at the rags he was allowed to wear. He was cold. Summer was over and winter… winter was…

He could not think those words. He flinched and huddled closer to himself.

The sound of the door opening had him biting back a whimper. Reek held his breath as heavy boots stomped on the stone floor.

Maybe if he was still and quiet they would not see him.

Maybe.

His luck did not hold. His luck never did.

The men shouted to draw his attention but Reek did not react to them. They were not Master. They were not Master’s friends. He would be in trouble if his listened to them.

One of them eventually turned and stomped away and reek listened as the footsteps faded.

He did not understand why they did not drag him out if they wanted him to react so badly.

Maybe they went to ask Master for permission to play.

He shuddered before he could help himself and a frightened whimper escaped. Reek didn’t like it when Master let other people teach him.

The heavy footsteps returned along with another, new set. A softer set. A set that sounded like a lady’s footsteps. But the only lady in Winterfell was Lady Walda and she did not like the kennels.

“We found him like this Your Grace, it isn’t a pretty sight mind you. He refuses to move without orders from his ‘master’.”

‘Your Grace’ was… was it Him. Had Master lied? Had He come for Reek?

The soft footsteps moved closer to him. They must have opened the kennel doors while Reek’s head was filled with smiling blue eyes.

“Hello?” A voice that Reek somehow knew called out delicately, “Could you turn your face to me please? I have food and water for you.”

Reek slowly sat up and turned. If he knew the voice then they must be important. Maybe they were someone that Master wanted to impress.

He was met by blue eyes and red hair and for a moment he though it was Him. And then the dress registered.

It wasn’t Him.

But it was someone that Reek knew.

“Theon?” The lady whispered.

Reek flinched, that word was Bad.

“Reek, reek, not Theon, Master will be angry if he hears that name. Reek please.” He rasped, rocking himself backwards and forwards to try and soothe himself from the terror that name caused him.

The lady stormed over and looked down at Reek, her expression reminded him of something. Of laughing with Him and someone else and mud and a glare colder than the kennels. Of two little girls at a meal with one complaining because the other had thrown food on her dress.

“Your name is Theon Greyjoy. You grew up here, you played with my brothers. You betrayed your king and burned his home. You are Theon.” She insisted and something about her voice sparked a memory.

He knew she wasn’t Him. But He had had sisters, which meant-

“Sansa?” Reek looked up at her and begged her to believe him, “I didn’t kill them. Take my head please but I promise I didn’t kill them.”

His voice filled with hysteria as he lunged forwards and clutched at her skirts. She had to believe him. Had to know that he hadn’t killed her brothers.

He could hear to trying to say something but the words would not register. All Reek cold do was beg her to believe that he didn’t kill the babies.

She pulled away from him and began to speak again but Reek still couldn’t hear her.

The men approached him then, one with a fish on his chest, the other a bear. Reek knew those symbols. Knew that they wouldn’t be happy with the Turncloak.

Had she given him to them? Had she not believed him? He trembled and panicked and did something Bad.

When they reached for him, he lashed out. He tried to hit the men, tried to kick and scratch, but they acted like it had no effect. One man slung him over their shoulder and Reek was left to fight with what little strength he had.

He knew it was Bad. But without Master who would teach him not to be?

* * *

Reek was left in a room in the keep. A warm room. A room with soft furniture and furs.

It was a test.

It must have been. Who would waste resources on a Turncloak or on Reek?

He did not fall for the bait of the bed, he knew that beds were for people who were not Bad. Reek was always Bad, even when he tried not to be, so Reek didn’t get a bed.

He curled up in the corner furthest from the fire on the stone floor. He wouldn’t do anything to get himself more punishment. He was already trembling at the thought of the one he would get for attacking the guards.

Reek did not know how much time passed as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Only that the warmth of the wall behind him from the pipe running though it meant he was the most comfortable he had been for a long time.

A knock on the door startled him and whoever it was did not wait for his response before opening it. Maids entered, carrying a large wooden tub and buckets of water he could see the steam rising from. One carried a bundle of cloth, black and brown and red.

None of them looked at him. They knew who he was. They had served in the Keep before the Stark’s retook it.

They knew what had happened to those who had shown him kindness.

Sansa bustled in after them and directed them to leave. She was followed by a kind looking woman with dark hair and an accent Reek could not place.

“Into the bath Theon.” Sansa ordered and Reek began to shake.

He did not understand.

Reek was not allowed to bathe. Reek was supposed to, well reek.

He shook his head in protest but she gave him the same look as before. The one that made him feel like a child.

Reluctantly he stood and removed his rags. Sansa did not look at him, she had turned away. But her companion was looking at him with an assessing gaze.

“Get in the water.” Sansa’s companion said, gesturing to the steaming tub.

Reek did as he was ordered. He was good at that now.

The hot water was soothing and warmed him in a way he didn’t recall being before. For a brief moment, surrounded by the water without the aches that normally plagued him he was Theon again.

But then the lady spoke and he tensed and was Reek.

“I can treat some of his wounds, Your Grace, but he needs to see a Maester.”

Reek trembled at the thought of the Maester. The Maester was forbidden unless Master allowed it and Master only allowed it if Reek had an infection bad enough that he was no fun.

He knew his words did not matter though. His opinion did not matter. Not to a Queen.

Not when he had taken her home and pretended to murder her brothers.

He looked at the grey water instead, the dirt on his skin had made the water murky and dark. Tainted, like he was.

He allowed himself to be pulled out of the water and dried. Allowed his cuts to be dressed with a poultice that stung.

He did not understand. Why would they treat him if they were going to kill him?

Eventually he was dressed in clothes he did not recognise. Mismatched ones that would have had Theon flinching but that Reek was glad of.

They were so warm and if the breeches were a little too short and the tunic far too wide in the shoulders, it did not matter. Not when he was wearing proper clothes.

Maybe if they were going to let him die with dignity.

Or maybe, maybe he would finally have some luck and they would let him live.

Theon smiled although he did not know why.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If there are any scenes or points of view you would like o see then let me know :)


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